


The Taste of Lemon Drops

by NatureSerenity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Past Torture, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2639819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatureSerenity/pseuds/NatureSerenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Disclaimer: I do not own anything.)</p>
<p>Hermione can't remember a thing, but perhaps it's only a matter of time.</p>
<p>Implied torture/trauma in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Lemon Drops

She doesn't remember anything.

Madam Pomfrey tells her that her memory will return when it is ready. That spending a summer at the hands of Voldemort's Death Eaters is bound to be traumatic. Bound to leave a few scars. When you are held captive by the Dark Lord's lieutenant, Bellatrix Lestrange herself, something changes within you.

Hermione knows the Mediwitch is right, but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

She spends her days pacing the floor of the Hospital Wing or venturing to the Library under a disillusionment spell, and her nights silently screaming. She can't remember, but her nightmares try to bridge the gap. After the fourth night in a row she wakes Madam Pomfrey up, the nurse offers her Dreamless Sleep. She accepts, but hides it under her pillow and casts the strongest Silencing spells she can manage instead. The dreams of pain and blood and fire, though tenuous, are the closest links she has to who she really is.

Harry and Ron visit, but it's like she's talking to strangers. She doesn't recognise them at all anymore, and only tells them apart by Harry's round-framed glasses and Ron's bright red hair. Harry is the Boy Who Lived, but it's as meaningless a title as the sandwich she picked at for lunch. Something deep inside tells her that she used to like Ron, once upon a time, as more than a friend, but those feelings have dried up and turned into dust now. She can't bring herself to blow the dust away yet.

The term starts, but Hermione stays in the Hospital Wing. She gets a private room now, in the back, warded by more spells than she knew existed. The Headmaster visits every day, and so does her Head of House, but nothing unlocks her stubborn mind. She would be proud if she wasn't too busy weeping. Scars criss-cross her hands and her upper body, but she doesn't know where they came from. They are delicate, almost beautiful, and sometimes she looks in the mirror and marvels at them, like they are the prettiest parts of a Mudblood. She doesn't know why that word stings anymore, or why tears fill her eyes when she traces the scars etched around her collarbones.

She knows that everyone wants to know where she is. Dumbledore claims an exchange program, and Harry and Ron keep up the pretense. Ginny visits sometimes, but it's always stilted and awkward and after a while, Ginny stops coming. Hermione is secretly relieved.

Luna pops in every week and Hermione doesn't know how to handle the dreamy-eyed Ravenclaw, who has radishes dangling from her ears and is almost always barefoot. The day she comes in with mismatched socks, Hermione can't stop looking at them and Luna tells her that sometimes all you need is a different perspective. It should sound trite, but somehow it doesn't.

That night, Hermione dreams and the nightmares come, but she can see Bellatrix's face, and she can hear her own voice whisper defiance. And when the pain starts, it feels like a spark of bravery lodged in her breastbone, and she endures. No matter what, she endures. 

And when she wakes up, her memory is fuzzy but the colours are returning, and she can taste the melted sweetness of a lemon drop on her tongue, as the sunlight bursts through the window in a subdued wash of yellow and pink.

Perhaps it does get better.


End file.
